


Puzzle 3301|Chapter 5

by KaileyFox



Series: Puzzle 3301 [6]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaileyFox/pseuds/KaileyFox





	Puzzle 3301|Chapter 5

Finally… 

           This was my first thought when I’d returned home from the restaurant at nine in the evening. Rather late, especially for someone who hadn’t slept properly in two days. My desk never looked so much like a bed as I trudged into the office. But I couldn’t sleep, I knew. Even now my anticipation carried my feet onward as my tired eyes shifted to the object of my obsession. I had work to do. Simpering, I stepped up to the desk, my shadow looming over a scattered mess of piled notebook sheets. In the middle of it all was what had stirred this obsession within me: Mrs Tysan’s folder. I stared it down like an inspector who had spent far too long reaching the cusp of a great discovery. It was full more than ever. Not with papers as it had been the day I’d received it, but with answers. And now that I was home, I was ready to begin dissecting. I could barely keep from cackling with delight.

           I would have delved into the folder hours ago. The only reason I hadn’t was due to a certain daughter not allowing me to. My fanatical grin reformed into a much warmer smile. And, I supposed I had to admit, I was glad she’d held me back. It had been a lovely time, our night out; Justine, as always, discussed quantum physics with me, taking periodic bites from a burger and chips between explanations, and I, as always, tried my best to understand, taking much larger bites from a simple salad. Though I was famished, I hadn’t ordered much else as I’d wanted to return as soon as possible to my investigation. I should have known, however, that the moment Justine learnt of this reason for ordering something so sparse, she would force me to eat a proper meal, no matter how much time I felt it wasted.

           “Why did you get nothing but a bunch of leaves, Dad?” she questioned, setting down her newest physics book ‘ _Neutrino_ ’ which she had been lecturing from.

           I glanced from the dossier of notes to her then back to the notes. “Well…I’m only a bit peckish at the moment. Perhaps I’ll make a more sufficient tea once we’re home.”

           A split second passed after I said these words when a rather loud and prolonged squelching drowned out the chatter of the restaurant. I sheepishly glanced away, feeling Justine’s disappointed glare bore into me.

           “Lies! I can hear your stomach from here!” she hissed. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You wouldn’t happen to be more interested in that mystery of yours instead of eating, would you?”

           I had been found out already…? “My, when did you become so observant?”

           “Not that hard to figure out when you’ve got a fork and that folder in both hands…”

           With this comment I looked from my right hand gripping the fork to my left holding my notes, noticing only now how obvious my intentions were. But of course I couldn’t let her win…

           “What are you talking about?” I asked teasingly as I set the open folder down on the table. “I’ve not touched the folder since setting it here when we walked in.”

           She now squinted at me, obviously unconvinced.

           In an attempt to appear less dodgy yet continue my research, I took a few bites of salad while surreptitiously glancing back to the words before me…until they vanished from my sights. With a surprised grunt I looked up to see Justine had snatched the folder away and was now holding it in both hands. She was masking her mouth, making her glare the only visible feature of her face, and I daresay the flames flickering within added a rather inarguable finality to her next question.

           “Do I need to rip this up so you survive…?”

           I quickly ordered a burger as well.

           When I’d re-seated myself minutes later I tucked into my second meal as fast as I had the first, continuously glancing to Mrs Tysan’s folder Justine stubbornly held captive. I quickly noticed it was only tightly clasped in one hand now. She was finished eating and had taken out her phone, paying quite a bit more attention to that than my notes. Good, I thought in anticipatory triumph as I slowly set down my half-eaten burger. I studied the situation, readying, like a cat with its prey, to pounce on the folder at just the precise moment…

           Right as I was about to launch from my seat, however, Justine stood and I nearly dived face-first into the table. After hastily righting myself, I looked to see she was about to leave.

           “Where are you off to in such a rush?” I asked, no longer worried about the folder. I was well aware it wasn’t uncommon for Justine’s attention to divert elsewhere once she was finished with a task but even so I couldn’t help wondering every time, when had kids become this impatient? “You were the one so interested in eating at a restaurant together, now you’re leaving?”

           Justine turned to me with brow raised, thin eyes stretched, as if she had completely forgotten I was here at all. Ouch…

           “Well, Dad…” she said, watching me with a withering look. Despite this expression there was a soft yet undeniably present defensive tone in her voice. This surprised me. She usually didn’t care what I thought, her independence often inspiring her to do what she had already judged was in her best interest no matter who might object. And this wasn’t new. She’d acted in this manner since I’d adopted her, and probably well before when with her own parents. So this defensiveness had to be stemming from somewhere important enough to her that it would surface in her voice. Perhaps… The discussion we’d had only an hour ago came to mind, about adoption. Was that it? “A friend wants to meet up,” she continued, placing hands on hips in an attempt to maintain her façade. “I can’t stay here…”

           Seeing the opportunity presented to me, I decided to toy with this newfound guilt, my brow upturned as my eyes glistened with hurt.

           “You’re with your friends every day, for eight hours, sometimes more! But our schedules are so different I hardly ever see you now…”

           She grew desperate now, folding her arms tightly. “That’s not true…”

           “All a poor father asks is to spend a bit of quality time with his precious daughter and she can’t even do that?”

           “Oh, c’mon, Dad…”

           This was too much fun…

           “You know, back in my day children used to stay seated until everyone was done…” I continued on, crossing my own arms to add to the effect. I opened one eye, smirking internally, but upon seeing Justine had promptly returned to her mobile, I cried in disbelief, “and we didn’t take out any cell phones while our parents spoke to us!”

           Without missing a beat she retorted, “That’s probably because cell phones didn’t exist back in your day…”

           “Not my point…” I muttered, picking up a mug of Earl Grey and taking a sip. So much for my guilt-tripping strategy… After returning the cup to its saucer I became a bit more serious, softening my tone, careful with my next words. “This friend you want to meet up with… That wouldn’t happen to be Fayne, would it?”

           “No, Dad… I’m too embarrassed by what you did to go over there again tonight.” I noticed her eyes suddenly dart to the side. “Ev…texted me. She wants to hang out for a bit.”

           “Eh?”

           “I said…Evelyne texted me. I’m going to hang out with her.”

           I simply blinked, not willing to display the concern I was truly feeling. Evelyne was one of the newest friends in Justine’s ever-widening circle, someone she’d met just this year. She was quite a dark and dismal character, possibly a bad influence, so I didn’t necessarily like the idea of my daughter out with her. But similar with Fayne, I knew I couldn’t carry on about the matter without Justine getting upset I didn’t trust her, especially since it seemed she was already aware of my feelings towards the girl. Also... I glanced out the window by our booth. I’ve never before let her go out when it was so dark…

           “Isn’t it a bit late?”

           “Yeah, but we need to finish some homework.”

           I raised an eyebrow. Justine never worked on homework at this time…

           “She asked me for help while I was at Fayne’s and I didn’t see the text until now,” she protested with arms outstretched. “Come on, Dad… Even if we _do_ get side-tracked by video games, and I’m not saying it’s going to happen, but _if_ we do, it’s not like we’re sneaking round the dark alleys of London looking for drugs!”

           “I’m sure you wouldn’t, Just.” I took another sip of tea and muttered, “Evelyne, on the other hand…”

           “I knew it. You don’t like her, either.”

           Bugger, she’d heard me… “Don’t put it that way…”

           “You keep judging books by their covers.”

           Well, might as well express my thoughts on the matter now… “She dresses like some executioner…”

           “That’s the style these days for some people, Dad! Get with it! Am I an executioner too because I wear these gloves she gave me?”

           She held out both hands, showing me her black, fingerless gloves and I teasingly waved them away as I carried on with my point.

           “Dressing like you’re about to murder someone is a style, is it?”

           “It’s better than dressing like you’re ready for the old people’s home.”

           I leaned in, cupping a hand by my ear. “What? I didn’t quite catch that! You’ll have to speak up a bit!”

           “Here! I’ll fix your hearing aids, shall I?”

           Sitting back in the booth, I shook my head. “Ah, you young’uns these days… No respect for your elders…”

           “‘Elder _ly_ ’, more like…”

           “Fine… I _suppose_ you can visit your friend late this once but I would at least like to know where you’ll be.”

           “At the library,” she answered quickly, her eyes shimmering.

           “And how long?”

           This shimmering quickly faded. “I don’t know… An hour?”

           “Where _exactly_ in the library will you be?”

           “Dad…”

           “Alright…” I finally acquiesced. “Just be careful?”

           “Yeah, yeah, we will be,” she insisted impatiently and immediately turned to leave. I watched her go while simultaneously darting my eyes about the restaurant, making sure no slimy character had been waiting until she was out of my sight to begin stalking her. Once she had exited and was now truly out of my sight, I distracted myself from the continuous onslaught of harrowing thoughts by returning to my notes…when, moments later, I heard arriving footsteps and the folder was snatched away from me a second time that night. I looked up to see Justine had returned. “I need to stop by the house to get my homework and I’ll be taking these with”—she waggled the folder pointedly, a mischievous glint in her eye—“so I know you didn’t let that burger go to waste.”

           I mirrored her earlier disdainful glare. “You could just stay seated for a bit longer. That way you’d really be sure I’d eaten properly.” And then I wouldn’t have to be so worried over you…

           “Can’t. I’ve got work to do,” she said with finality as she turned to head out once more.

           I sighed in exasperation. I suppose I couldn’t be too upset, though, when she’d picked that line up from me, and this combined with her decisive nature made her unstoppable.

           “What’s meant to be in here, anyway?”

           “Hmm?” I queried as I looked up. Justine had pulled one of the insect puzzles from the folder. I smirked playfully. “What? You don’t know what a puzzle is? Are those ancient history for kids like you?”

           She turned back around to me.

           “Puzzle? There’s a puzzle here?”

           I about lifted an eyebrow before ceding she was probably right in some way to question the insect made of numbers.

           “Well, I suppose if we’re going to get technical, that insect isn’t necessarily a puzzle. More a cypher that I don’t have all the answers to.”

           “Insect?”

           Now I really did lift an eyebrow.

           “Yes. Don’t you see it? It’s the one you didn’t want me to write out from my computer. Or is it that difficult to make out amongst all the numbers?”

           “Numbers?”

           I blinked.

           “You know, for being so young you certainly sound like an old, broken record player…”

           She shot me a withering look through squinted eyes as she brought a hand to her head. Must be getting another headache…

           “I don’t know what you mean, old man. There’s nothing on this sheet. So, yeah, I guess it is a puzzle in a way. A puzzle as to why you’re seeing things!”

           For a moment, my brow remained crinkled as I tried to understand what she meant. Seeing things? But it was right there, the insect! Then I reflected her expression.

           “Don’t you and your cheek have somewhere to be?”

           “You and your cheek distracted me…” At this she turned and began to leave one last time.

           “Text me when you get there!” I called after her.

           “Okay…”

           With that she departed, leaving me to finish my meal without company and my mysteries. And without words to read and someone to speak to, my mind was free to speculate. Curious… She’d not seen the insect at all… It was almost like at work when Mary had spotted my desktop image instead of the pesky insect that had refused to be minimised. What to make of this…? But I couldn’t seem to concentrate much on this newest question when I reminded myself to be on guard for her since she was out so late. I hoped she would be safe…

           It was because Justine was out with yet another friend I had returned home alone. Due to this, the walk back had been quite uneventful, at least on the outside. No cheeky jokes, no laughter, practically silent save for the continuous drone of London’s streets… Within my mind, however, a raucous internal battle had raged between rational logic and irrational fatherly instinct. One second I was confident Justine would be fine, the next I was fighting off the urge to bolt to the library and keep watch for any danger she might encounter.

          As I returned from these thoughts I couldn’t help glancing to one of the framed pictures not obscured by the piles of paper layering my desk. She’d been quite a bit younger in that photo. Independent even then of course, but not far from my protection. Not as far as she seemed now. And soon, I had been reminding myself more and more each day, she would be leaving for university. Where I could no longer protect her, watch over her, joke with her… I had borne the truth time and again in my life and I knew this was yet another challenge to face the facts: As Justine grew older she was in less need of my care. If these past few days had taught me anything, it was that.

           But, as always, these facts did not stop the melancholy stirring in my heart. In fact, they were the catalyst to it. How difficult it was to slowly let her go, let her spread her wings and fly further and further from this nest when I’d taken her under my own wing for ten years now.

           I shook my head, suddenly realising how ridiculous my vexations were. She was only out with a friend, for goodness’ sake! Yes, it was the first time I’d ever let her go out this late, but she’d be fine. If I couldn’t manage this, how would I ever manage her moving out on her own? Or dating…? Or even worse…marrying? I put a hand to my head. Enough on this before I fainted… I had work to do.

           As I seated myself at my desk I opened Mrs Tysan’s folder, recalling what I’d learnt that night. While reading Mr Tysan’s journal, I’d found more information on his archaeological digs. As an adult, he’d searched for what he had proposed were seven powers. The reason for this proposition was due to uncovering the Scroll as a lad. He had also claimed he’d travelled through time. Once when finding the Scroll. A second time to find the powers. When he’d discovered these powers, at least two out of the supposed seven, the man he had been with at that time, a scientist, had disappeared, along with said powers.

           That was when I had quit reading. This information had not helped answer any questions I’d been tailing for a couple days now—why the hourglass symbol left behind on the victims coincided with the Scroll, how the victims were killed, the reason behind the bodies being moved and the missing relatives who had never come forward to mourn their deceased loved ones, who the culprit really was… More it made the winding road of this mystery fork into even more roads to inspect—how the Scroll’s supposed powers linked to the murders, if at all, and what had truly happened on that day all those years ago when Mr Tysan had discovered them. Needless to say, this made it even harder to put an end to these murders as soon as possible.

           For a moment I thought of re-reading the journal entries to be sure I hadn’t missed any vital information until I quickly recalled I could only return to it in memory. I had left the journal at the Tysan house. However—my features became tight—I suppose that was for good reason. The very last entry held an eyewitness account of a time in my life I had, for decades, wished I could erase as simply as a computer did a file. The destruction of London. I couldn’t think about it without wisps of gunpowder lacing the air around me, scenes of the destruction flashing before my eyes, my throat tightening with grief like a noose around my neck. What had happened that day was not worth recounting. _Never_ worth recounting. It was over. In the past. And London had been rebuilt now. By my hands, no less. So to let something from back then eat away at me—

_BZZZ…BZZZZZZZ…_

           My mobile vibrated against my desk, snapping me from these nightmarish memories back to reality. I silently thanked the distraction, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding in, and reached for my phone.

           “@ library” I read the text from Justine. Good, she’d made it safely. I found, however, that even with this reassurance I had to make a conscious effort to fight off the anxiety that clung to the edges of my mind. Anything could go wrong while she was out of the house at this time, after all. A car crash, an abduction… A murder…

           Perhaps, I thought hastily in an effort to return to my notes, now would be a good time to employ a journalist’s six best friends. Who, what, where, when, why and how. The ‘how’ of this matter had intrigued me the most. How had the killer done his killing exactly? No internal or external injuries found on the victims. Not even the medical examiner could explain the deaths. Perhaps poison was involved? A poison that couldn’t be detected in the body? And maybe this poison was being produced on Trent Road… Maybe that was why the murders were taking place there…near the library…

           Near exactly where Justine was at this very moment!

           I shook my head again, forcing away the wild thoughts it had concocted. She would be _fine_. Now…on to the ‘when’ of the murders. They had been reported at about four in the morning due to noise complaints from neighbours, most likely because the bodies had been moved to throw off the investigation, but both murders had actually taken place at around two in the morning, a week apart. It hadn’t been a week quite yet, but even so it was a bit early to say the culprit was consistent. He might strike again in a week…or perhaps a few days…or tomorrow…or even…tonight…

           And Justine would be the victim!

           I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. Goodness, this was difficult… Justine can handle herself, you know that, I scolded. She isn’t a child anymore…

 _What does this have to do with her being a child or not?_ my fatherly intuition snapped back before I could continue my notes. _Go retrieve her!_

           I attempted to ignore the voice, but the more I read my notes on the murders, the more I feared the killer I’d been investigating, and the more I found my thoughts twisting from puzzling out this mystery to Justine’s dead body.

           No, she’s independent enough! I countered, then added rather morosely, She doesn’t need me to protect her anymore…

_Independence? She may be independent enough to make her own decisions but that doesn’t mean she can defend herself from a killer!_

           My brow creased slightly. Good point… But, even so, she wouldn’t want me to disrupt her time with a friend. I’ve already done that once tonight…

_There. Is. A. Killer. About! What does it matter what she wants in this case?!_

           I blinked, suddenly realising how right my fatherly instincts were. It didn’t matter how much I embarrassed her, I needed to keep her safe! I snatched up my mobile as I launched out of my chair. I made a horrible mistake letting her go out so late! I’m a terrible father!

           I began to run for the door, willing to drag Justine home if that’s what it took to bring her back alive. Just then my mobile buzzed with a text and I stopped short to eye it hurriedly. If it said anything about her being held captive or killed or…!

           There was a picture of a book. With my mind frazzled as it was I couldn’t help but see it as a sign from the serial killer that he’d taken my daughter and this book was yet another cypher I’d need to solve to ever see her again. Convinced of this, I didn’t bother actually reading the message as my fingers inadvertently dialled Justine’s number. Each ring seemed to stretch on, longer and longer every time, drawing out my anxiety…

           “Yeah, Dad? Did you need something?”

           Finally! “Are you safe?” I sputtered frantically.

           “Wh—Of course I am!” she exclaimed. “I picked up the phone, didn’t I?”

           “That doesn’t mean you’re safe. The killer could be telling you to say that!”

           “What…?”

           “Look around you,” I continued in a panic. “What do you see?”

           There was a pause then, “Books. Loads of books…”

           “Any people?”

           Another pause. “Yes, Dad… There are people in one of the many libraries of this busy city named London…”

           “Have you been staying observant like I’ve told you?”

           “Yes…”

           “And you’ve not noticed anyone following you?”

           “No…why?” Though still thoroughly annoyed, a hint of concern now traced her tone. “Dad, you’re starting to scare me…”

           “I just want to be sure you’re all right. Even with these murders I’ve been investigating lately I didn’t think to stop you from going out…” I could hear only silence on the other line and I had a feeling as to why. Suddenly defensive, I blustered on. “You’re internally shouting at me for not trusting your judgement… I know you’re independent enough to look out for yourself, Justine. Trust me, I know, but that’s not the issue. I’m your caretaker and that means I’m supposed to take care of you, which I’ll have failed to do if you’re being held hostage somewhere—”

           “Dad,” Justine interrupted, laughing at my frenzied state. “I’m not locked in some seedy basement. I just sent you a text. Did you even read it?”

           Recalling the message I’d received before frantically phoning Justine, I replied in a bit of surprise, “No… I suppose I didn’t.” With this, I opened the message and actually looked it over this time. The title of the book was not some cryptic puzzle as I had first thought. It said, ‘ _Computers for Dummies_ ’. Underneath this image was Justine’s text, “Want me 2 check this out for u? xD” A smile tugged at my lips.

           “Hey, now…” I said in a good-natured warning.

           Justine snickered. “See? Everything’s fine so quit worrying. Maybe you should work on some different articles for your paper while I’m out?”

           “Yes,” I agreed, running this conversation through my head and realising, once again, how ridiculous I was acting, “perhaps I should…”

           We said our goodbyes and after ending the call, I sighed in relief. Not only was she safe but she hadn’t been upset over my concern. At least she had understood more than usual. Maybe our earlier adoption discussion truly had tightened our bond. I couldn’t help beaming.

           I took Justine’s advice once back in the office, exchanging my notes on murder for my articles due tomorrow. Certainly writing about a biscuit and tea fundraiser would keep my thoughts positive until she returned…

           At least this was what I had expected. Only once Justine did return two hours later I noticed I’d written several rough drafts about tea, biscuits and keeping a daughter safe. But I didn’t care. The moment I heard the door open I darted out of the office in a mad rush. Halfway to the kitchen I came to my senses, realising how awkward this would look and, clearing my throat, slowed to a walk. I could never allow her to go out this late again, I decided wearily. I could already feel the newest grey hairs beginning to sprout…

           Upon stepping into the kitchen, hoping I’d only look as if I was about to make a cup of Earl Grey instead of checking on Justine, I pulled up short. Justine was not alone. With her was a girl dressed from head to toe in the darkest, pointiest attire I’d ever seen. Her shoes, her trousers, even her neck was adorned—or maybe impaled was a better word—with lethal-looking spikes. What wasn’t spiked was still rather daunting to say the least. Her black hair was pulled back, blood-red dye—or possibly just blood—streaking the ponytail. Her hands wore rather impractical gloves with many holes. I think Justine called them fishnet but why would anyone want to wear fishnets for fashion? I could wrap my mind around quantum physics before I could wrap it around that… Probably the girl’s vest top was the most normal article of clothing she wore, though it did feature what I believe was a word written in such a bizarre scrawl I could make neither head nor tail of it.

           “Good evening, Evelyne,” I greeted. It seemed she could end up killing someone by just bumping into them but I had to remind myself she was still a lady to be treated with elegance and respect.

           She turned to me, the chains like those of a prisoner clinking on her black cargo trousers. “What’s good about it?” she asked, indifferent.

           I crossed my arms and tilted my head as I pondered her question. I’d never been questioned that in response to a greeting before…

           “Hmm… Well, I suppose it depends on the person now that I think on it. What might be considered a good evening to me could be a completely different evening to you, and vice versa—”

           “Dad,” Justine interrupted as she slung her backpack over a kitchen table chair. “It wasn’t a real question…”

           I blinked. “I knew that…” I hadn’t, however, known that. Evelyne was difficult to read, even with my level of observance. Her expression was so apathetic, her brow, her eyelids, her mouth, everything set in such a straight line. And those dark eyes. Like a void from which nothing ever escaped… It was rather intimidating not having any emotional cues to rely on…

           “Well, in any case…” I continued, trying to have a proper conversation with the girl. “How’s the school year going? Excited to be nearly done, aren’t you?”

           “Let’s just say I’m at the point where I’d have absolutely no regrets if a plane crashed into me, killing me instantly.”

           “Uh…” I found myself at a loss. “Well…surely you have something in mind for a graduation party? Any presents you’re hoping to get?”

           “A mother who appreciates my hard work and a father’s love.”

           I stared at the girl. I wondered for just a moment what went through her mind every day before reconsidering delving into that question. What would the Professor do in this situation? Had he ever encountered students like this? Even in all my years of interviewing countless people—victims, witnesses, culprits—I’d never once met someone this…depressing… She seemed to be worse than the first time I’d met her which had been only a week ago, but even so…

           “Is that so?” I attempted with a rather dry chuckle. “I remember when I was in school—”

           “Back when death came quickly?” Evelyne put in. Justine doubled up in laughter, presumably because she thought Evelyne was making a joke about my age, but I think the girl was asking a legitimate question, which concerned me even more.

           “Erm, well…probably not back that far.” I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Anyway, Justine and I already ate but would you like anything? Or a cup of tea? Water?”

           “I’d rather not feed this mortal vessel to prolong my suffering, but if I have to…”

           Oh my…

           “Is it okay if Evelyne stays over, Dad?” Justine asked just then.

           Does she have to…? As I thought on it, I was a bit annoyed Justine had invited Evelyne without permission. There wasn’t much of a problem with it. At least from a glance she didn’t seem to be hiding any drugs or other illegal substances… But perhaps I could use this as an excuse to be rid of the girl.

           “You didn’t exactly inform me you wanted a slumber party tonight.”

           “I sent you a text…”

           I looked to my mobile but didn’t see any other message. “Where?”

           With an anticipatory look, Justine stepped up and took my phone, analysing it but a second before flipping it towards me, showing an alert that read the memory was full.

           “Get a new phone, Dad…” she said in exasperation. “Yours is so old you’ve run out of memory from, like, ten messages.”

           “Well maybe if you’d quit sending texts poking fun at my age…” I pointed out.

           Ignoring me, she clicked through a few messages. “What even are half of these, anyway? One says something about a meeting at the London Eye. Here’s another one to the same person about a dinner date at—”

           In one swift, fear-stricken movement I snatched my phone from her and pocketed it. “They’re nothing… Just messages to an old friend… And I keep other messages in case I need to refer to one for a report…”

           “Another reason to buy a phone from _this_ century…” she quipped. “Anyways, I did send you a text, but you didn’t—or should I say _couldn’t_ —answer.”

           I watched her suspiciously, waiting—hoping—for a microexpression to cross her features to prove she was lying.

           “C’mon, Dad…” she protested, seeing my reluctance. “It’s just a sleepover for one night. We won’t stay up late and we’ll be quiet.”

           Not exactly what I had an issue with… I more wanted to be sure I wouldn’t find the two hanging by their necks because Evelyne had talked Justine into committing suicide… But it didn’t seem Justine was lying about having asked permission at some point so, with a sigh, I complied. “Yes…Evelyne can stay.”

           “Alright!” Justine celebrated, throwing a hand in the air to high-five Evelyne who had raised a subdued hand in return.

           I escaped back into my office before I got into another conversation with Evelyne. Not something the Professor would approve of but if I played my cards right, perhaps I could avoid her for the rest of her time here… It was a good job I had already been busy figuring out if—and when—the murderer about London would strike again. Now that Justine was home safe, I could put my full concentration into the matter. I glanced out the door, hesitating to be sure the coast was clear as I listened to Justine excitedly explain a remake of a videogame she’d downloaded and Evelyne offering a monotone ‘yeah?’ every once in a while. As long as I kept an ear out for any unusual noise, I could stay out of sight and make sure the two weren’t up to anything. With this, I seated myself at my desk once more and began to organise my notes, setting my mind back on track as I reviewed what I knew.

            One group of notes consisted of what I’d taken on both murder cases. I leafed through the notepad I used for reports on various scenes until I located my notes on the Trent Road murders. Two victims, both murders at 2.00am, reported at 5.00am due to bodies being moved, lack of relatives mourning, lack of external or internal injuries and—I fingered two copies of the scraps of paper the killer had left behind on his victims—the hourglass symbols. There was no doubt these murders were connected. The doubt was why the Scroll and the powers, both associated with the Tysans, coincided with these murders.

           This led to my second group of notes. I flicked through a few more pages in my notepad. These were on the interview at the Tysan’s during the second murder. While there, Mrs Tysan had exhibited anxious behaviours. Blushing when I’d praised her, irritation at the mention of her husband, stuttering, confusion…

           But the strangest observation I’d made was in my third set of notes consisting of my two informal interviews with Fayne. I switched over to a different notebook, one for my more casual notes. Fayne had been nervous during one of the interviews. The same interview I’d found out his mother wasn’t an archaeologist. That she had lied. For what reason, I was still unsure. I could be certain, though, that Fayne was not in on the murders as he’d been too surprised when I’d asked him about his mother’s occupation as an archaeologist. He hadn’t been aware of her plans. So why the nervousness? Whether or not these plans indicated a federal crime like murder or some simple familial affair, that’s what I needed to find out.

           And perhaps when I took my fourth set of notes when interviewing Mr Tysan—I flipped to a blank notepad sheet—I would finally resolve this question and have an answer to whether or not I should suspect the people I’d visited over the past few years, those I’d trusted to occasionally watch over my daughter.

           I glanced to the desk clock. Half-ten already. I’d phone Mr Tysan tomorrow morning at a more reasonable hour and set up an interview. At present, I would continue to speculate. Though my body and mind alike longed for sleep, my determination wouldn’t allow it. I’d be far too restless, anyway, with all this new information right at my fingertips, especially now that I had fully gathered my thoughts. I was starting to realise just how complex this murder was, too much so to keep in the back of my mind gnawing at my dreams or to be carelessly stashed away in a notebook or folder. I needed to start pinning my observations up on the wall, physically connecting them together. Only then could I find the culprit and stop these murders.

           It was decided, then. After I took out yet another notebook from my top desk drawer I continued where I’d left off before. Who, what, where, when, why and how. Intertwining my fingers as I rested my elbows on either side of the folder, I eyed it for but a moment, processing a plan, before setting to work well into the night.

           In this time I scrawled out sheet after sheet of notes, pausing only twice. Once was to listen to a strange noise coming from the kitchen at about two in the morning. I soon gathered this was only Justine scavenging for food before she escaped back into her room. Probably up late researching as I was. The second time was to brew a cup of Earl Grey. I still planned on going to bed at some point that night, but I needed to stay awake long enough to finish my notes.

           Unfortunately it hadn’t been as straightforward as I’d planned. Some of my notes I’d erased and rewritten. Some were crumpled and tossed. In the end, only a select few actually made it up on my wall. These I felt really helped me envision the murders and sum up my goals for solving them. Amongst these were the only two I hadn’t written. A copy of the Scroll of the Guardians document from Mrs Tysan’s folder and another of the image of the Scroll blown up, pinned at the very start to remind me of the very first clues that had started me on my way in this mess of a mystery. I rolled back in my chair, panning out from the wall of notes to get a better view of my hard work.

           ‘Who’ This was my first note. Who was the killer? My goal still was to figure out how the Tysans played a role in these murders, if, in fact, they did at all. So underneath the ‘Who’ I had written ‘Tysans(?)’ My main suspect was Mrs Tysan. But could Mr Tysan play a part as well? Was that why Mrs Tysan was so nervous during our interview? Her husband had discovered the Scroll and would know about that hourglass after all. At least I could rule out Fayne. Below ‘Tysans(?)’ I had written ‘Mrs Tysan(?)’, ‘Mr Tysan(?)’, and ‘ ~~Fayne~~ ’. That settled the who, at least for now. I turned from this note to the ‘What’ I had tacked up beside it.

           Beneath ‘What’ I had two tally marks and beneath that, ‘murders at present’. I hoped I would not have to add to the murder count but I couldn’t deny the possibility it may increase, hence tallies instead of numbers. Below, I had written ‘First murder – the bloke’, ‘Second murder – the young girl’, ‘Relatives unknown – possibly missing – held hostage/murdered as well’. I didn’t have names, unfortunately, and I didn’t know how—or even if—the two were related. Often times a serial killer chose his victims based on certain characteristics said victims shared but I’d not heard from Inspector Brown on any sort of connection. They didn’t seem to be father and daughter, uncle and niece, nothing. It wasn’t their appearance that was connected. Could it have been a personality trait? Perhaps where they both lived? This led me to ‘Where’.

           ‘Trent Road’

           ‘The bloke – address 2295’

           ‘The little girl – address 2300’

           ‘Both were possibly moved, addresses may be incorrect’

           ‘When’

           ‘Reported to police at 4 am’

           ‘Murder actually took place at 2 am – one week apart’

           ‘Why’

           And that’s where I had been stopped. I had near to no information to even begin making speculations on this question. Why had the killer killed? I was completely unsure of the motive. I could guess it had something to do with the Scroll, but that was all.

           Similarly, my ‘How’ sheet was left fairly blank with nothing but ‘no internal or external injuries – no murder weapon/no fingerprints’ below

           After all this work, I couldn’t find any answers even now. I hadn’t expected to solve the case tonight, but if I compared it to a puzzle with all the border pieces connected, I still had many inside pieces to find. This was much further from being completed than I liked to admit. At least now my desk was quite a bit more orderly than I’d seen it in days…

           I leaned back heavily in my chair, sighing tiredly. This murder case had really thrown a wrench into my schedule and my usually organised office. I guess it had been quite a while since I had investigated this hard…back when I was researching the mystery of my parents’ deaths. Talking of, I thought while resting my eyes for but a moment, it was nearly time to visit them again…

_“…back…inside…”_

_“…go back…still inside…”_

_“I have to go back!”_

_“THEY’RE STILL INSIDE!”_

           I shot up in my chair, awakened by my own shouting. My eyes darted wildly about the office, my chest heaving, my fingers digging into the armrests, my muscles coiling like a spring about to launch. Several seconds passed before the short yet impactful nightmare began to melt from my sights. As I returned to a more peaceful reality, I exhaled slowly in exhaustion, settling back in my chair as my heartbeat regulated, clasping my shaking hands loosely in my lap. Even after all these years I could be thrown back so easily into the night they’d been killed… With the amount of therapy I’d gone through one would think I’d be cured of such an ailment…but I had to remind myself, not for the first time since my road to recovery, trauma wasn’t simply an illness so easily eradicated from the body through medicinal means…

           In an effort to push the past away once more, I looked to my desk. Set in a now neat stack off to the side were the two insect puzzles, one from my home computer, the other from my work computer. I shouldn’t be sleeping. I had another mystery to occupy me yet. Hunching over my desk, I began to gather my thoughts yet again, puzzling over the theories I’d already made on what this insect and its numbers were trying to tell me…or rather, were trying to keep so intently away from me. Was there perhaps something I’d overlooked? Miscalculated?

           As minute after minute passed, frustration welled within me when, even now, no solution presented itself. My impatience was only exacerbated by my lack of sleep. I took a sip of lukewarm Earl Grey, rubbing my temple with the middle and pointer fingers of my free hand as I propped my arm on the desk. How did Justine do it…? I thought, recalling all the times I’d seen her fingers dancing away on her keyboard, typing out a new theory despite her having only slept for mere hours. Maybe it was those energy drinks…? Or maybe it was something about computer screens versus paper? Did the light help keep one awake? If so, she’d been right to constantly insist I switch to digital means of writing. My eyelids began to droop once more and I took another swig of tea. After returning my mug to the saucer, I decided I’d give typing out my thoughts a try. I set down my pen and looked to the screen, opening a digital notepad, beginning to type. But after only a minute, I knew this wasn’t helping. In fact, I couldn’t help yawning as my tired eyes stung even worse. I could practically feel the bloodshot veins…

           But there was one thing that caught my eye as I went to close the notepad. Something that would definitely help me find answers, that had been in front of me the whole time. Something Justine would have made use of the moment she came to a dead end. The internet. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t tried it yet!

           Rejuvenated as a new path opened up to me, I straightened and set to work. The one good factor about technology that I was still getting used to understanding was how I could so easily search for what I once had to find on foot. I felt more accomplished when actually travelling around, but the Internet provided me with the speed I needed at present.

           After typing into the search bar all the numbers that formed the insects—1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13…up until the largest number I saw, 196418—I sat, simply captivated by what I might find, as the webpage loaded. What popped up moments later was not information on the insect, but rather a load of sites about number theories. The most prominent was something called the Fibonacci Sequence. I’d not heard of this before. Not even in school and I had been in quite an advance level maths class… Even so, based on the amount of links involving both the numbers from the insect and the mentioning of this Fibonacci Sequence, this must have been at least a step in the right direction.

           Clicking the first link, I was quickly taken to a webpage featuring this Sequence. I skipped past a bit introducing its history. The Sequence alone had piqued my curiosity but miscellaneous information wasn’t important at the moment. Not when I was finally making some headway on what this insect puzzle might be. I moved on to the next bit below.

           ‘Each number in the Sequence,’ I read, ‘is the sum of the largest preceding number and the preceding sum.’ Hmm, interesting… There was a set of numbers as an example. 0+1 = 1. 1+1 = 2. 1+2 = 3. 2+3 = 5… I was starting to understand. I looked back at the insects. The numbers they consisted of were not ordered in the same manner, but it was clear they were part of the Sequence. I glanced to the puzzle I’d printed out. The one with backslashes and full stops. Like sentences.

           Perhaps that was it… I thought as the gears began to turn faster now. The numbers didn’t follow the Sequence because they were being used in sentences. Sentences…words…

           I blinked in realisation.

           Letters! These numbers represented letters!

           In a bout of adrenaline that came with finally solving the puzzle of this code I’d been pursuing for days, I snatched a pencil up and began scribbling out a code of my own.

           1 = A

           2 = B

           3 = C

           5 = D

           8 = E…

           And so on until I had the entire alphabet connected to a number of the Sequence. My eyes shimmered in wonderment as I straightened in my chair, studying my cypher, proud of my work for the second time that night. I glanced to the insect puzzle, the shimmering twisting to a determined glint. Now all I had to do was apply this to the insect and I’d finally have—

_BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZZZZZ!_

           I blinked, broken from these thoughts by the sound of my mobile vibrating loudly against my desk. I reached for it and tilted the screen towards me. The number was Mary’s. I glanced to the time in the top corner which displayed five in the morning right on the money. She was probably calling to wake me up. I chuckled humourlessly. Joke’s on her. I haven’t even gone to bed…

           “Good morning, Mary,” I greeted as I picked up.

           “Good morning, Clive!” As always, her greeting was sung rather than spoken.

           “Calling to wake me up, are you?”

           “Well,” she said slowly, hesitating. “In a way, I guess. If you like being awoken by bad news.”

           The moment she said this I knew exactly why she was calling. I was about to voice my speculations when she answered for me.

           “There’s been another murder.”

           “Right,” I said gravely, crossing my free arm over my chest. As I thought… “Let me take a stab at what’s happened. The victim was killed on Trent Road at two in the morning.”

           “Yep,” Mary coaxed me on.

           “We don’t know who the killer is.”

           “Mhmm.”

           “And the victim was killed by unknown means.”

           “How could you possibly know all that?” she asked sarcastically. “Yes, that’s exactly correct. I figured I might as well call you about it since you’ve been on the case.”

           “Any new details I should know?”

           “Only new thing I know at the moment is the address. 3291 this time.”

           “I’ll head there promptly,” I replied. “Stay safe out there.”

           “And you too, Clive.”

           With this, I ended the call. Another murder, eh? I couldn’t help feeling contrite. I had suspected there would be another victim and, in the end, was powerless to save them. Of course I couldn’t blame myself. I wasn’t the police. Even so, one life saved was one less lost. I stood from my chair, letting my muscles stretch and my bones pop, and began to head out. Then, with sombre realisation, I recalled my tacked notes. The murder count… Turning back to my desk I retrieved a pen. The sooner this reckless killer was caught… I thought, adding a tally beside the other two. …the better.

           After leaving my bedroom, I quickly freshened up in the washroom. Half a minute later I stepped into the kitchen. I couldn’t help glancing longingly at the kettle. Though Mary hadn’t set a specific time to be at the scene, I wanted to arrive as soon as possible, make sure I didn’t miss a single piece of evidence in this growing mystery. Still, I took a second to search the refrigerator for something—anything—to keep me awake. Scattered about the various health foods I’d just bought were Justine’s sugary junk foods she had ‘helped’ pick out. Amongst these was a pack of fizzy drinks. Not my favourite but after retrieving a can, I cracked the tab open and took a swig anyway. I winced in painful disgust. The liquid that travelled down my throat was quite unlike anything I’d tasted before. Acidic. Burning. Like swallowing needles. So unkind compared to a warm and soothing cup of tea. It did the trick at least. Mixed with the several cups of Earl Grey I’d had earlier I was feeling more awake already.

           I turned round to leave for the crime scene before suddenly spotting someone sat at my table. At first I thought it was Justine and about greeted her when I noticed the dark, spiked attire. In my tired state I completely forgot Evelyne was staying overnight and my heart nearly burst, my mind convinced the killer had broken into my house.

           “Oh,” I uttered, setting a hand on my chest, realising the killer wasn’t patiently waiting to take my life next after all. “G-Good morning, Evelyne.”

           The girl picked up a dainty teacup that must have been from her home as I didn’t have anything like it in my house and took a sip.

           “What’s good about it?” she asked after setting the cup down. “I didn’t even get to witness much emotion when scaring you half to death. I had expected more of a reaction.”

           “Yes, well,” I said slowly, still unsure how to have a proper conversation with the girl. “I’ve mostly trained myself not to express fear.” Hand still over my heart, I smiled sheepishly. “Rest assured, I still feel it, though.” Remembering the murder as I completely recovered from my fright, I hurried for the door. “Anyway, why are you up so early?” And why do you seem to be making yourself so at home in _my_ house…?

           “Justine woke me. She had a headache.” Evelyne took another sip. “Said she was going to have a quick walk.”

           At these words, my heart nearly did burst this time. Justine was out and Mary had just called me about another murder. She couldn’t be…

           “A walk?” I asked. I still didn’t express my fear, but the terror within me was absolutely foudroyant, threatening to overwhelm my composure. She couldn’t possibly be the next victim… “Where?”

           “Round the house, I think. I told her to come back safely because there’s approximately seven-hundred ways she could die while on that walk.”

           Thanks for the thought!

           Grabbing the door handle, its cold metal rousing the suppressed chill that traced my blood, I stepped out the door, nearly forgetting to close it behind me in my fear-induced stupor. I looked around in a daze, turning my head slowly, mechanically, casting my gaze about in every direction, hoping my daughter might catch my eye. When she didn’t I felt the urge to bolt for the crime scene. But I couldn’t. A shock of icy dread now pulsated through my veins with each hammering heartbeat, freezing my body nearly in place. One robotic footfall in front of the other, I managed to make my way down the three stone steps and stand, lost, on the pavement, the passers-by filtering in front of me a blur to my numb senses.

           “My daughter is not dead.”

           I had meant this to be a statement of fact used to bolster my resolve, to conjure a logical plan. But my voice had wavered in a plea instead, causing my brow to furrow, my eyes to water in desperation. She couldn’t be dead. Not after I’d made sure she came home safe last night, not when I promised myself I would never be writing an article about how she was killed, no internal or external injuries, no clue as to what had happened, no information on the one who’d done it. She simply _could_ _not_ be one of the victims in this bloody case—!

           “Dad?”

           I gasped, halting in my bewildered tracks upon hearing the voice. There Justine was, standing before me. Alive. Unharmed. My trepidation instantly melted, flooding my insides with relief until I was fit to burst into tears and without another thought, I enfolded my daughter in my arms, hugging her tight to my chest. But as quickly as it had overflowed, my well of relief dried up. Realisation settled on me, setting a spark coursing through my chest which erupted into a raging fire, blinding me with fury. I pulled back sharply, gripping one of Justine’s shoulders tight in my grasp, glaring her down as I held back hot tears.

           “I thought you had been _killed!_ ”

           Justine winced at my hold but I didn’t let up as she defiantly met my eyes.

           “I was…walking around the house, Dad. If I would have seen anything strange, I’d have run back inside… You worry too much…”

           “I’ve already told you why I worry, Justine!” I stormed on, “I worry not because I don’t think you can’t handle yourself. I worry because I’m currently investigating a murder case where _three murders_ now have occurred within the same month, one _just today_ , and I thought _you_ were the victim! How do I make you understand this?!”

           For a moment she continued to meet my furious stare with fire in her eyes. Then she looked away.

           “Yeah, okay…” she muttered, her voice cracking. “I get it…”

           With this sudden complying after such strong defiance, I couldn’t help but think back to when I’d first adopted her. We’d been on a walk about London when she’d suddenly dashed off, crossing in front of speeding vehicles. I’d been so surprised by this abrupt and blatant dismissal of danger I could only turn my head and watch her small form grow smaller as she drew further away, my voice caught in my throat, unable to call out while I simply stood frozen and wide-eyed on the pavement.

_“Justine!”_

           Finally my senses had returned. My legs dashed of their own accord after her, now my turn to dismiss danger as, without looking, I pelted across the road, dodging this way and that, my sights never leaving my daughter. I heard but didn’t quite register the dull blaring of various horns, the buffeting of wind attempting to pull my body to the left, the right, and then a screaming flash of red, lurid and chilling. That’s when I realised I’d nearly just been struck by a double-decker. That could have hit Justine… I thought, my legs pumping faster in response. I called out for her again, but she didn’t stop and I wondered whether this was because she couldn’t hear over all the noise or because she was ignoring me. It was hard to tell sometimes…

           Though it had been only seconds, it had felt like hours before Justine finally made it to the other side of the street and halted on the outskirts of the park she’d been so determined to get to. I quickly closed the distance between us, gripping her shoulder and spinning her round to face me.

 _“_ What _were you_ thinking _?!”_ I cried, stooping and holding both her shoulders now in my hands.

           For but a split second her eyes registered surprise before her brow knit in defiance.

_“I want to go to the park.”_

_“You could have been_ killed _, do you understand that?!”_

           She continued to meet my excoriating stare, her own eyes reflecting back the inferno in mine. But this flame was soon extinguished as her face scrunched, a sniffle escaping her before tears spilled down her cheeks.

 _“I’m…s-sorry, Dad…”_ she sobbed between hiccups.

           I couldn’t stay mad. Not when she was making that face… Instantly, I released my grip and hugged her tight.

 _“I know, Just… I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to hurt you… But you can’t run off like that…”_ After a moment of letting her crying subside, I stood and held out my hand. _“Come on,”_ I said gently. _“Take my hand and we’ll walk there together now.”_

           I was drawn back from these memories as Justine continued.

           “I’m sorry for leaving, okay?” she said. “I just needed some air…”

           There was something in her eyes, something in the way her brow furrowed minutely, and of course that earlier break in her tone that made this an understatement. Did she really just need air or was she walking something off? And her conceding so quickly? When she was trying to make a point? Not normal. What was going on?

           “I just…” she began, answering my silent question for me, “I guess I don’t want to admit…there’s a murderer out there…”

           With this comment, I thought back to when I’d first mentioned these murders. A week ago, when the first had occurred. She had always been wary of crime, but with this murder case I recalled she would instantly clam up. I hadn’t had to investigate a murder since I’d re-entered journalism so I’d not seen this behaviour much, but as I thought on it now, I soon came to a realisation I’d not yet considered. Not only was Justine getting older and trying to figure out who she was and her place in this world, but she was also trying to understand who her family had been and how their murders connected to her. We may have both been orphans at one point, but even our situations weren’t entirely similar. I had been with my parents long enough to know who they were, to bond with them as children were meant. Justine hadn’t. Perhaps she was searching for answers even I’d never had the need to question…

           This in mind, I allowed my anger to recede. As I had promised myself, I wouldn’t press her on such sensitive matters until she was ready to discuss them, but even so, she was under my supervision and I wouldn’t let her get hurt, especially while searching her past. I’d been hurt while doing so myself…and, not to mention, I’d hurt others as well…

           “Yes, I know, Justine,” I said as I released her shoulder from my grip, watching her with compassion, “I’m glad you’re independent, really, and I want to support your strong will, whether you’re using it to take a simple walk or for something much more, but”—my compassion hardened in another rigid stare—“because you’re not an adult and still in my care as of right now and because of the case I’m investigating, you have to promise me you will not leave this house when it’s this dark without my permission.”

           “…Yeah, okay…” She put a hand to her head. I suspected her headaches had come back.

         I softened my expression again, suddenly realising something else may be going on as well, contributing to both her emotional and physical turmoil. I think it was about that time again…

         “You’ve been getting headaches recently. Is Code Red in effect, perhaps?”

         Justine looked relieved. “Nope, just finished with that whole business.”

         “So you don’t need any war supplies while I’m out?”

         She smiled up at me, a bit too innocently, I might add. “Well, I could do with some chocolate…”

         I gave her a withering look. “That’s not even a necessary supply…”

         “Chocolate is necessary! It cushions the start of the battle!” That innocent smile returned. “Anyway, I _am_ your favourite daughter, right?”

         “You’re my only daughter…”

         “I’m your favourite person?”

         I sighed, conceding. “Fine… I’ll fetch some once I’m finished at the crime scene.” I held up the can of fizzy drink, slightly crushed most likely from clenching my fingers at some point earlier. “But I’m only doing so because I stole one of your other supplies.”

           “Never thought I’d see the day you drank that, Dad.”

           With this comment and now that our tension was over, my weariness began to settle heavily on my body once more, gravity nearly dragging me down to the pavement for a nap.

           “Yes, well…unfortunately I didn’t have time for a cup of tea so I had to resort to something less appealing. Hope that’s okay?”

           “Only if you buy extra chocolate.”

           “Only if you get back inside.”

           “Fine, it’s a deal.”

           With a teasing handshake, she bid me farewell as she headed into the house and, reminding her multiple times to stay safe at school, walk in groups, call if anything happens, I departed. I was glad to have sorted out the short-lived conflict with my daughter, but the conflict within my mind did not dwindle as I clacked down the pavement. Once more I couldn’t help thinking the sooner this murderer was caught, the better.

           I arrived at my destination by the time the sun had begun to rise, streaking the sky blood-red, like the foretelling of an omen. Unfortunately, that omen had already come to pass, leaving another victim without warning.

         While in the back of my mind I wondered what this murder entailed for my ongoing investigation, I retrieved my notepad from my back pocket and set to work taking down initial notes. Like the last two, the address was Trent Road, though the house number this time was 3291. The state of the house was quite calm for a murder—no weeping friends, no mourning relatives—like the last two murders. I couldn’t help wondering if the victim’s family had been killed as well or abducted. Either way, it was another connection to add to my wall of notes. I also documented CSIs were milling about spraying luminol for blood that was never shed and dusting for prints that hadn’t been left behind. These last two assumptions had been just that, assumptions, and I’d probably not add them to my article but even so, this murder was definitely associated with the other two, meaning no injuries—or blood—and no suspect—or fingerprints. I glanced to Inspector Brown. I’d soon find out for certain.

           As I progressed from the front garden to the side of the house, my tired, stinging eyes glancing round for new information I might glean from this murder, I noticed Richard had arrived in his glitzy car. An annoyed sigh escaped me. And here I was hoping I could avoid him for my entire investigation… He stepped out of his car, his countless rings and other accoutrement practically blinding in the rising sun, saw me, and made a beeline in my direction. I could only imagine what rubbish he wanted to brag about now… At this thought my eyelids grew heavier until I was straining to see through them. I took a swig from the can of fizzy drink, letting the needles pierce my throat. They only partially helped jar me back awake.

           “ _Dove_ ,” Richard greeted as he swaggered up, vaunting as always.

           I squinted at him, taking another pull on the can, swallowing another mouthful of needles. They seemed less painful now he was here.

           “Good morning, Richard,” I returned coolly, stifling a hiccup-burp behind the back of my hand. “Could you get on with your drivel quickly? I don’t have much time to waste on you today.”

           “ _My_ ,” he drawled, looking down his nose at me piteously, “ _someone’s_ in a mood. Need a nap?”

           I smiled dryly. “Trust me, I would if I could.”

           I continued walking around the house, taking more notes. Richard followed and I found myself draining more of the fizzy drink. But it wasn’t enough. The bursts of energy from the sugar and carbonation lessened and lessened with each swallow and I could feel my mood slipping along with it. After another hiccup-burp, I retorted, “Now, what do you want?”

           With this, Richard’s cocky smirk returned. “I wanted to wish you and your agency _good luck_ earning any _subscribers_ this month. You’ll _need_ it. You read my article on the last murders, about a new _Jack the Ripper_ running rampant through _London_.”

           “I’d hesitate to call it an article, but go on…”

           “ _Well_ , this third murder is the _perfect_ opportunity to continue the saga. Think of how many _subscribers_ we’ll earn, how much _money_ I’ll be pocketing.” Puffing out his chest as he placed his hands on his hips, he added sardonically, “And I bet all _you’re_ going to do is write the _facts_ …”

           Instead of indulging him, I knocked back the fizzy drink, guzzling it in two generous gulps, crushed the can with a punctual clutch of my fingers and belched, making no attempt to cover such ill-mannered behaviour. I couldn’t be bothered to act like a gentleman today in front of Richard. Not when I was so tired. Not when he was wasting my precious time with his prattle. At least I got a bit of enjoyment out of him when I saw the repulsed frown that had wiped all traces of that smug smile from his smug face.

           “What’s _up_ with you?” he began, annoyed. “You’re not yourself to—”

           But before he could finish I held up a finger to silence him, my tired mind beginning to process what he’d just said. He’d been poking fun at me for writing the facts, but the facts, at least from what I was finding, were more interesting than his made up Jack the Ripper. Perhaps he didn’t know all the details…? I looked to him slyly.

           “These murders,” I said, “I’m guessing you’ve noticed the connection too?”

           I could tell he was suspicious by the way he watched my features. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t _my_ expression that would be revealing any answers.

           “Maybe I _have_ , maybe I _haven’t_ …” he said guardedly, tilting up his nose. “ _Why_ …?”

           I didn’t respond right away. Instead I searched his face. His jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. One eyebrow angled sharply for a split second. His eyes glanced off to the left once, twice as he attempted to conjure a fabricated answer. I could very easily tell he was irritated. A smile played on my lips. Irritated because I knew something he didn’t. Because I’d worded my question in a specific manner, the simple, infinitesimal movements of his expression had been all I needed to confirm my suspicions. That, and he had hooked his thumb on the edge of his trouser pocket and was drumming his fingers against his thigh, a clear indicator, which I had learnt over many years butting heads with him, that he wasn’t just irritated. He was infuriated. I couldn’t help fanning the flames.

           “No reason,” I finally answered with a shrug, expelling one last burp in satisfaction. “Only curious is all.”

           The drumming grew more intense and my smile twisted into a smirk. Not only had I won Richard over but I’d learnt he didn’t know anything about the Scroll and its connection with the hourglass. Perhaps now that he was aware I knew something he didn’t he’d begin searching but, I allowed myself a self-satisfied chuckle, he’d have to search pretty hard to find the answers I’d come across.

           “Even if you _do_ know something, I’ll make _certain_ my story trounces _yours_!”

           Again, I didn’t answer him. I simply turned around, letting his words hang ineffective in the air, and walked away to continue my investigation. Moments later, I heard Richard stomped off in a huff. Now it was my turn to cackle like the arch nemesis I was.

           I soon finished up my initial notes. Nothing had stood out to me that really contrasted with the other murders, a good thing considering I was searching for more connections, but I still had yet to speak with Inspector Brown. With this, I returned to the front garden. Inspector Brown was still standing in place, holding a clipboard and penning some notes of his own. While walking up I watched as a member of forensics rushed up to him and listened in on the distant conversation.

           “We’ve conducted the fingerprint analysis on the piece of paper with the hourglass, sir, but no prints could be lifted, like the last two murders.”

           He tried to offer the scrap back to Inspector Brown, but the detective shooed his hand away. “Run another test. There must be something.”

           “Yes, sir. We’ll get back to you in five minutes.”

           “Make it two.”

           “Yes, sir.”

           And with this the member of forensics returned to his team. My eyes shimmered. Such respect the Inspector commanded. Perhaps I could adopt him as the son I’d never had…

           “Good morning, Inspector,” I greeted as I now made my way up, holding out a hand.

           Continuing to study the clipboard, he removed one hand to shake mine, then, blunt as always, got straight to the point.

           “You’re a right smart fellow, Dove,” he started, catching me off guard. I couldn’t help scratching the back of my head with my pen, embarrassingly flattered. “I’m sure you can take an educated guess as to what’s happened here.”

           I smiled, straightening my tie. “Well, I have been doing a bit of investigating on my own, after all. From what we’ve seen, I’d say the victim was killed at two in the morning.” The Inspector nodded. I continued. “When the autopsy report was submitted, the medical examiner discovered no signs of external or internal injuries.” The detective nodded again. “And a scrap of paper featuring an hourglass was left on the body.” The detective nodded a third time while retrieving a tiny plastic bag holding the little scrap of paper from under the clamp of his clipboard which the member of forensics had just promptly returned. I was guessing he didn’t have any luck finding those prints in the end.

           As Inspector Brown held up the scrap I examined it only to find it was the same as always. Ragged around the edges, torn from another full sheet of paper, and there was the hourglass insignia, outlined in faint white.

           As I peered closer, however, I noticed something written on the back as the plastic bag fluttered ever so slightly in the breeze. Curious… I don’t remember seeing anything on the other pieces…

           “Inspector, what’s on the back of that scrap?” I asked. “Something you’ve penned?” Or something the murderer penned…?

           He glanced to the side of the piece facing him. To anyone else his stony expression wouldn’t have seemed to change, but I was able to catch a millisecond twitch of his brow. “Nothing. Why do you ask?

           Nothing? I questioned silently, surprised. I had expected at least one of my two speculations to be true, but for both to be completely wrong… It was like calling heads or tails while flipping a coin only to have the coin land straight up on its edge…and it was just as perplexing…

           “Hand it to me a second,” I requested. He placed the plastic bag with the scrap in my palm and I flipped it over. Upon doing so my eyes widened. There was another insect puzzle! Though rather small compared to the other two, I could recognise the tiny numbered body and wings anywhere, the same beginning numbers as the ones I had at home. I thought for a moment. Had the other scraps really not had anything on the back? “Do you happen to have the two other hourglasses from the last murders?”

           Without hesitation the detective unclipped two more plastic bags with the two scraps from the clipboard and handed them to me.

           I flipped them over. Sure enough there were insects on both, written in the same Fibonacci numbers I’d learnt of earlier that morning. The detective hadn’t seen the insect on this one. Would he see it on the others…? I held up all three scraps, the backs facing Inspector Brown. “Are you sure you don’t see anything?”

           He took one glance then nodded. “What are you on about, Dove? Something you’ve discovered?”

           My features grew tight as I placed the pieces back in my palm, staring at the miniscule insect. He really couldn’t see them… It reminded me of when the puzzle wouldn’t leave me alone at work and Mary had spotted it…or at least should have. Instead she had seen the background of my desktop. And just yesterday, as well… When I’d been eating with Justine. She hadn’t seen the insect puzzle… How could this be…?

           “Nothing,” I answered the detective once I had registered he’d pressed me. “I…guess I just saw something. Been running on a low amount of sleep.”

           Inspector Brown nodded curtly. “I can certainly relate.”

           “Thanks for your time,” I said, a bit absentminded as I began to rapidly write this new discovery in my notepad, my mind reeling. That insect was not just a random puzzle nor a virus infecting my computers. It never had been. It was connected to the murders all along. Somehow.

           And here I thought I had been making some progress on this puzzle. Now I wasn’t even certain I had a clear picture on the box let alone any of the pieces connected…


End file.
